


of dark cellars and true romance

by mswyrr



Series: how the light gets in [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Consensual Kink, F/M, Femdom, Impact Play, Pegging, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mswyrr/pseuds/mswyrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Anders explore the kinky potential of the Hawke Estate’s cellars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of dark cellars and true romance

Hawke looked up from her writing desk when she heard voices coming from the estate’s cellar entrance.

"I really shouldn’t leave off my duties so early…" she heard Anders say.

"But I thought you liked my food, messere," Orana replied, stepping into the room. "You said it was the most delicious thing you ever ate." She started wringing her hands. "Unless you didn’t mean it…"

"Of course I meant it!" Anders said, giving her shoulder a careful pat. "You’re a marvelous cook. Marvelous."

Brightening, Orana sketched a curtsy. “Thank you, messere! It will be ready in a moment.” And so she darted off.

Hawke bit her lip, trying not to laugh at Anders’ overwhelmed expression. “Good evening,” she said, once she’d mastered herself.

"Oh, don’t act casual with me." He pointed a finger at her. "I’m on to you."

"Whatever do you mean?" 

"I know it was you who set her on me…"

Hawke leaned back in her chair, all nonchalance. “I might have left the key to the secret entrance near your clinic out,” she said. “And said you were wearing yourself out, healing ‘til the wee hours, not taking time to eat or rest…” Hawke shrugged, “but what she did with that was her own idea. Isn’t it a good thing she’s choosing to assert herself?”

"That’s not fair," Anders pouted. "How am I supposed to resist when you take a poor, dear, newly freed elf with big, sad eyes and get her to make feeding me up her pet project?"

He slumped in a nearby chair, obviously trying to make her feel the depth of her insidiousness.

"How do you know _I’m_ not her pet project?” Hawke asked, looking back down at her correspondence. “Perhaps I’ve been a portrait of loneliness these past few weeks,” she said with no particular emphasis, not looking at him.

She felt him shift, coming forward in his chair. “Has it really been weeks since we shared a meal? Not a few days, or a week, but week _s_ , plural?” There was a long pause. “I’ve been leaving you in this empty house every night…” Hawke risked a glance his way as saw him rubbing bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I’ve been alone so much in my life that I forget how new it is to you.”

Her goal hadn’t been to make him feel guilty. Hawke shrugged it off. “We both have our work.”

"Still, you could have told me sooner. Healing has… always been something good, one good thing I could pour myself into and pretend everything else would fade away. I can get caught up in it."

"You’re used to being alone and I’m used to not having to ask for company." She huffed a soft laugh, remembering how cheek-by-jowl some of her family’s accommodations were over the years. "In fact, in my family, people were always just _there_ , whether you wanted it or not!”

It sounded like a bad thing. She’d had to share the same bed with her sister for years. But it really wasn’t. She would give anything to wake up with bruises from Bethany kicking in the night just once more.

Anders crossed the room and took her hand, drawing her up into a hug. She stiffened, wary he would turn this into a long discussion. But he just held her, the soft feathers of his ridiculous outfit tickling her face, his body warm and there and hers. She slipped her arms around his waist and locked her fingers behind his back with a vague wish to never let go.

-

Orana could make fashionable dishes, but she knew their tastes ran toward peasant fare. Tonight was a hardy lamb stew with large slices of bread and cheese. It was _delicious_. Rich and piping hot.

To further contribute to their low class demeanor, Hawke and Anders ate their meal while sitting on the carpet in front of their bedroom’s fireplace, toasting the cheese and bread, shoulders brushing as they moved.

“I had a thought,” he said, gesturing with his spoon, “as your dainty little enforcer dragged me in through the cellars.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “‘Dragged’ you? She’s half your size!”

"She dragged me _emotionally,_ " he fluttered a hand. "It was very traumatic."

"Emotionally, ha! I should have just come down to the to the clinic," she said, "and _physically_ dragged you home. You’d have complained less about it!”

He sat up straighter, smiled brightly. “Yes! That’s exactly the sort of thing I was thinking as we came up through the cellars. There’s ever so much wonderful naughty equipment down there…”

Hawke took a bite of bread, frowning as she chewed. “I told you I’m not interested in any slave games. Anyway, how come you’re just now noticing we haven’t had sex for weeks?”

Anders sighed. “If you’re healing people until you drop there’s not much interest left in anything else.”

"Nice how that works out for you," she muttered, casting him a glare.

"But, you see, we can work out all your pent up frustrations with a little game. Which is, by the way, _not_ a slave fantasy. I know your feelings on that well enough.”

Eyes still narrowed, Hawke said, “All right. Impress me. What is it?”

"I want to be a very naughty, charming gentleman thief," he said, eyes warm. "Unfortunately captured by the guards, due to no fault of my own." His voice lowered as he leaned in, sharing a secret: "I was betrayed," he said, then tsked. "Truly, there is no honor among thieves. You, of course, are the authoritarian viscountess who has it in for me."

Hmm. Hawke pictured him in a rogue-ish outfit, perhaps with a sword on his hip. Not too bad. “I could work with that, but why a thief?”

His smile faded. “I don’t know. Perhaps,” he raised his knee, settled an arm around it, “it would be nice to play at being hunted for some crime, some wrong I’ve done, rather than for just… being who I am.”

These days, a dark mood could take him so easily. His tendency toward fatalism seemed to worsen with every new report of Meredith’s abuses.

Hawke touched his forearm. “Tell me, gentleman thief,” she asked, her tone playful, “what naughty thing did you do to deserve the viscountess’ wrath?”

He reached out, raised her hand and gave it a kiss. “Why, my lady,” he looked up at her from under his eyelashes, “I have stolen your favorite necklace!”

Turning her hand, she cupped his cheek. “Ghastly,” she said. “Such a grave insult must indeed be punished.”

"Mm," he sighed, turning into her touch. "I look forward to it."

-

It was one of their more involved games. Preparations took the better part of the evening. They set their scene in a cellar room, agreed upon ground rules, and then split up to take care of more personal preparations. While Anders changed his outfit and took care of some intimate details, Hawke pulled out one of the two fine dresses she owned.

Hawke placed it on her bed, admiring it. Her mother had ordered it in expectation of her daughter’s lively social calendar as the Champion of Kirkwall. It was a deep emerald color with bell-shaped sleeves and seed pearls at the throat and cuffs

Stroking the silky fabric, she remembered the one ball they’d gone to. Mother had been so happy. And Aveline had looked radiant in her blue gown, rather preventing Hawke from claiming that martial women were not meant for dressing up.

Hawke could still see a stain on the right sleeve where she had knocked over a glass of wine, unaccustomed to clothes that were designed to get in the way, rather than stay out of it. It shouldn’t be visible in the low light of the cellars, making this gown perfect for their game.

Slipping into it, she felt happy to wear it for the first time. And even happier when she fetched the riding crop they’d found and made her way down to the cellars with a spring in her step.

-

She found him in one of the smaller cellar rooms, shackled to a metal ring in the center of a large table, itself bolted to the floor. The torches they’d lit gave the scene a dangerous quality, their flickering flames causing the shadows to shift, alive and mysterious. Anders was in nothing but his trousers and a thin linen shirt. She took a moment to appreciate the way it stretched over his shoulders as he rested on his forearms, feigning sleep.

Closing the door firmly behind her, Hawke walked in and slapped the riding crop down in front of him.

He jolted pleasingly, looking up with a groggy expression that cleared in an instant, his eyes widening. “My lady,” he said, standing. “My lady, I…” he looked down at the crop and then back at her. Then took a breath, visibly collecting himself. “I had expected more guardsmen come to buffet me, not a vision of loveliness.” He bowed as deeply as his bonds allowed. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked, as smooth and charming as any courtier.

Hawke folded her arms. “You have committed many crimes in my city, thief.”

“Surely criminals are not uncommon in Kirkwall, my lady. Do you personally visit all of us?”

“You have brought yourself to my particular attention.”

“How so?” He smiled winningly. “Have you heard tales of my good looks? My sharp wit? Did you come to see for yourself?”

Hawke pursed her lips, having none of it. “’Insufferable nuisance’ is the phrase I hear most from my guards about your exploits.”

“Ah,” he gave a little nod of his head. “But you cannot trust the word of a guard on such matters. The best guards lack all imagination. And your guards are the best,” he added, with a wry gesture indicating his shackled wrists.

“Whereas you,” she said, cool as lake water in January, “have an excess of imagination, clearly. A far more dangerous condition.”

“Perhaps,” his grin widened, “but there is more pleasure in it.”

“Your criminal charm holds no appeal for me, thief.” Hawke tilted her head back, looking down her nose at him. “It will not save you from the gallows, where many a thief has lost his life.”

He paled, sending another quick glance at the riding crop. “Do you have a particular fondness for sending men to their deaths, my lady?”

“Finally you show fear,” she observed, not answering.

He swallowed visibly, staring at her. “Is that the substance of your interest?”

“I have spoken of your crimes,” she picked up the riding crop and tapped it against her hand, pacing slowly in front of him. “But you have done me a personal insult as well. Do you even recall it?”

He watched her, wary. “Do you refer to my… _interference_ with your personal possessions?”

“My mother’s necklace,” she hissed, gripping the crop, "was far more than a mere possession."

“Yes. Emeralds and pearls, beautifully set,” he reminisced, as if recalling a fondness. “If you wore it now, it would match your dress.”

Hawke slammed the crop down, inches from his hands.

He flinched, eyes on her face.

“I will have satisfaction for that insult,” she continued. “I will take from you this night my personal recompense.” Her voice had come out sounding deadly serious, the voice of a ruler whose word was law. Hawke struggled not to smile, she was so pleased with herself.

Anders made a show of quelling before her, and that was pleasing too. “My lady…” he whispered. “Is my death not enough?”

“Your death,” she said, stepping back, “is negotiable. My recompense is not.”

“But how…”

“For the insult, you will pay. For your crimes, a deal might yet be struck.”

“What could you wish of me?” he asked, his hands tensed as if he could ward her off, bound as he was.

“I have enemies, nobles with designs against me. If I had a master thief at my command, useful but deniable if caught, able to secure information for me…” she spread her hands, encompassing the world of possibilities that would open for her with such a human tool at her command.

“You would trust me?” he scoffed.

“Unlike your fellows, you are known for your fastidious nature. You have never broken an oath. And it is an oath of service I would take. You may lose your life upon the gallows,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes holding his gaze fast, “or give it to me.”

He opened his mouth, clearly desperate to comply.

Hawke raised her hand. “Careful how quickly you assent. I am known for my justice, but not for my mercy. You may not find my rule an easy burden, thief.”

“An easier burden than death, surely.” He took a breath, then inclined his head. “My lady, if you should choose to spare my life, I will spend it in your service.” He made another bow, slower this time. Respectful rather than charming.

“Very, well,” she said, brisk and efficient, as if people swore oaths to her every day. “Your first mission will be to find whatever scoundrel you sold my necklace to and trace its origins until you find the current owner. After that we will discuss what good your skills will do me in the realm of politics.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Hawke smirked. “My, but you are obedient. I was expecting more resistance…”

Anders straightened, lifting his chin. “As you said, my lady, though a thief, I am known as a man of my word.”

“I suppose that makes you feel more admirable than the rest?” she asked, cocking her head. “And perhaps it does. Yet there remains the matter of my recompense.” Stepping around the table she stood just outside his peripheral vision. “I wonder,” she said, spreading her open palm over the back of his neck as if he was her property and she had every right to it, “how well you will take that, my thief?”

He shivered under her touch, but resisted the urge to move or even turn his head to keep her in his line of sight. “I have sworn to do as you wish, my lady.”

"Allow me to test your resolve," she said, applying pressure to the back of his neck. He went as she directed, pliant under her hand. She pushed him down until he was bent over the table, head low, resting on his forearms, his legs and ass available to her touch.  
  
She reached out, tugged at the waist of his trousers. It was easy enough to push them down, exposing him. And then all too tempting to fondle his warm skin as he shuddered under her hand, vulnerable, helpless. Three years together and Hawke had touched him everywhere, so many times, but it always felt new. Aided by seeing him through a character’s eyes on occasion.

She petted and stroked him, the victouness’ new property, territory to be explored and conquered. He held still for her and she could feel the effort in the tense line of his body. Leaving off before she jumped ahead in their script, Hawke reached for the crop.

Inflicting pain on him often posed a challenge for them both: he could enjoy far more than she was interested in dishing out. The crop was a good compromise; it was a controlled act, allowing her to take him apart with just the merest flick of a wrist.

She spread her left palm over his lower back, raising the crop in her other hand. His body was ready for it, quivering with the tense anticipation. She flexed her palm, steadying them both, and then struck.

He gasped, his mouth pressed against his fist to suppress the sound, and she felt his whole body flex under her hand.

Hawke set a steady tempo but varied her strikes enough that he could not become accustom to it. She was not interested in making this a protracted experience, but what there was of it must be _good_.

Her palm still spread over his lower back, she could feel the sensations moving through him, every strike, every gasp. There was electricity running through her, charged by the energy she felt from him, the pleasure they shared in this. She had never known someone so well before that she could take them apart just so, just as they needed it. Had never wanted to nor known someone who desired to trust her that much.  
  
But Anders… She flexed her palm again, stroking her thumb over his back through the thin material of his linen shirt. He was hers, giving himself to her, telling her every secret she could use against him. Witnessing her own secrets and cherishing them, even the ugly ones.

She continued until she felt him sob, his whole body shaking, and then left off with one final strike.

Setting the crop aside, she let him have a moment with her hand steady on his back, grounding him, before she continued with the scene.

"Why, I do think you like this," she said, finding the right note of cruel amusement as she reached out, gripping his hardened cock by way of evidence.

He gave a breath sharp. “My lady…” he cried out, hips thrusting against her hand.  
  
She released his cock and smacked his much abused ass. “Did I say you could do that?”

"No," he said, a tremor in his voice. Then: "please."

Hawke fondled the fever hot skin of his ass, tracing her fingers over the marks she had made. “I had not expected this. I intended to give you punishment, not a reward…” she mused as he flinched and flexed under her hand. “But I find myself intrigued. Tell me,” she said, leaning forward to whisper close to his ear, “just how much would you take for me, my thief, and thank me for it?”

He tilted his head, looking up at her with eyes reddened from tears. “I never sold your necklace, my lady,” he said, as if it answered her question.

Hawke frowned. “Then where is it?”

Still with that earnest, heartbreaking look. “I kept it.”

"Why?"

"That night, I saw you. At the banquet… you were…." he averted his gaze. "I could not part with it."

She laughed, genuinely surprised. He’d kept this part of the story from her. “You have _wanted_ me.”

A quiet nod of his head. “Please, my lady…”

"Hush. Let me have the pleasure of working this out. So, you wanted me. But now _I_ have _you_. You are mine, but I am not yours. What a terrible state you find yourself in,” she said, her voice saccharine with false sympathy. “Aren’t you adorable,” she continued, touching him more gently now. “I thought I would have to break you to bit, only to find you begging for it.”

He rested his forehead against the table’s rough surface, sighing. “I am at your mercy, my lady.”

"That is painfully obvious." Hawke swept back a lock of his hair. "It occurs to me that there are more pleasurable things I could do with this biddable nature of yours than I had planned, dear thief. But such things are not required of our agreement. I do not take oaths to exploit them." She moved her hand back, to pet the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. "Will you bend to me in this, by your own choice?"

"I will," he said, a note of dignity in this voice, though he sounded worn.

"Then close your eyes," she said, still gentling him with her touch at his nape. There were preparations to be made before the next act and she preferred to not break the mood.

He obeyed easily, his eyes fluttering closed.

Hawke had come down wearing the clever leather harness she’d purchased from the a discreet shop in High Town and it was the work of a minute to pull out the supplies they had placed in the room. There was a jar of oil and a double-sided dildo which had become a favorite since they purchased it. She was ready and working the appropriate side into herself went easy, sliding into place with a satisfying pressure. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the sensation as she adjusted the straps, making sure the arrangement would hold.

Walking with her proud instrument before her was a welcome experience. It thrilled her, made her move with a graceful prowl in her step. She came back to him, feeling perfectly wicked and capable of anything.

She started with gentle touches, stroking his hip, kissing the nape of his neck. “I want you,” she said, “to spread your legs for me now.”

He groaned, trembling under her, and obeyed, giving her access.

"Mm," she kissed the sensitive spot just below his left ear. "Very good."

Running her left hand down the slender curve of his hip, she reached for the open jar of oil with her right. She kept him steady with her left hand while she pressed her right against him, working the first finger in. It went easily enough; he had prepared himself before their game. But, she noted with satisfaction as she worked her second finger in, he had left her plenty of opportunity to work his body, stretching him.

He arched into her as she added the third finger, pushing back against her hand, moaning as he took her in. They both loved the slow process of surrender, but it seemed tonight he was greedy for it.

"Easy," she said, moving her left hand to rest across his throat. "Easy, now."

"I need you," he whispered. She felt the vibration of his voice against her hand, soft and needy.

"Soon," she said. She moved, getting her skirts hiked up and using a generous measure of the oil on her shaft.

His ardor cooled a little when she started working it into him. It was larger than her fingers had been.

She felt him tense and kissed his neck, holding him close. “Sh, you know what to do. Relax into it. We’ll take it slow…”

Applying more oil, she worked it against him, nice and easy. She could feel the movement herself on the other side, pressure and a rhythm starting as it got easier for him to take. She liked this toy because she could feel it too, fucking both of them, every thrust against him a thrust back against herself, the jolt of it against her clit, the feeling of fullness inside her.

When he was good and ready, stretched just so around her, they could move together. As she became sure he could take it, she became more selfish, greedy about it. She used her loose grip around his throat to pull his head up so they were pressed closer together, her breasts against his back, her lips at his throat. She shifted her hips and let herself go, thrusting into him, feeling the pressure and shocks. He was beneath her, the sweet curve of his back, the welcoming movement of his ass against her hips, taking her in, taking everything she gave him. She was generous enough to reach for him, stroking his cock as she moved, taking him. She found the pace she needed and worked it, using him to find just the right moment, the hot pressure inside her building, and building until she felt herself clench around the hard instrument, her fingers tightening against his neck, and rode that wave out, the spasms tightening and fading out.

As her own orgasm faded she kept working him, thrusting and stroking his cock, finding just the right angle, the right pressure. He panted and moved against her, so good and so desperate, her very own, to do with as she wished. When he came, tensing and shuddering, she tightened her arms around him, held him as if she could own every feeling she had given him, never let him go.

Somewhere along the way they had lost their roles, so she didn’t try to come up with something the viscountess would say. Instead she looked around for the items they’d gathered for after and started to pull out.

“No,” Anders said, gripping arm with his shackled hands. “Please, stay.”

Hawke relaxed, free of both the pleasure and the limits of her role. She put her arms around him, hugging him from behind. “It’s okay. I'll be right back… you’ve got to be cold in this flimsy shirt and I need to get out of this,” she added, flexing her cock against them both. “It’s not very convenient when the moment’s over.”

“Mm. But I like having you inside me,” he sighed.

Her heart did a strange leap at the admission. “We can do this any time,” she assured him, stroking a hand over his belly and chest. “As much as you like.”

He laughed softly. “You underestimate how much I would like of you, I fear.”

Giving his neck a quick kiss, she said, “Let me go and I’ll test that out with you. Later.”

“All right,” he said, releasing her arm.

She eased out of him and went to remove the whole ingenious, but now awkward, device. They had prepared a soapy cloth, which she cleaned her hands on before rinsing them. Then she gathered the blanket they left on top of a crate, a flask of water, and the key to his shackles. After unbinding him, she helped him stand, pulling his clothes back into place, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

“Better?” she asked, touching his face.

“It was better when you were still fucking me,” he said, and smirked, nonetheless pulling the blanket tighter with a shiver. “Though it is warmer.”

“Thought so,” Hawke said. “Now,” she lifted the flask of water to his lips, “let’s have a drink of this and gather ourselves before heading up to bed.”

He looked right in her eyes as he pressed his mouth to the flask’s lips and drank. There was something lewd and promising in it. She found herself staring at the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

“Barren, sexless weeks on end and then, once you’re started, you can’t get enough,” she snorted, bemused as much at herself as at him.

“It’s feast or famine in the Hawke family, I dare say,” he said, failing to sound contrite.

“’Hawke family,’” she scoffed, flicking her fingers at him.

“Why not?” he said, smiling. “My parents were lowly farmers; I don't have a proper surname of my own to share.”

“We’re hardly the marrying type,” she said, helping him walk with an arm around his shoulders.

“But what if you get me pregnant,” he complained. “Have you thought of that, Hawke? The poor little ones, their parents in a state of mortal sin…”

Hawke laughed, patting his arm. “Should that happen, I will definitely make an honest man of you.” The door coming into the main house was easily reached from the room they’d chosen. Hawke pushed it open, making sure there were no servants around to witness their entrance.

“’Honest man,’” Anders mused, drawing out the syllabus, “it sounds a bit dreary when you say it like that. Tell me,” he turned his warm, clever gaze on her, “can an honest man still have fun? Can an honest man still enjoy an evening of debauchment, say… getting fucked up the ass by his good wife?”

He said it all so cheerfully, Hawke couldn’t help laughing. “Never fear,” she said, once she could contain herself. “I swear by my staff,” she added, waggling her eyebrows to emphasize the pun as she pulled him up the stairs to their room, “that as long as I am alive you shall never be without those pleasures you value so highly. Namely,” she enumerated, “bondage, buggery, and the lash.”

“Don’t forget hugs and kisses and cuddling ‘til dawn. Not to mention all the fun things a man can do with his mouth.”

“Or woman,” Hawke added, and gave into the temptation to pinch his ass.

He winced, then smiled wryly. “You know I don’t mind a bit of pain, my dear, but I will already have bruises for a week.” He made puppy eyes at her, as if he hadn’t personally encouraged her in discovering every bit of her sadistic streak.

“You could always heal them,” she shrugged, pulling open her bedroom door.

He turned to her then and, framing her face with his hands, gave her a long, deep kiss. When they both pulled back, he kept close, looking into her eyes. “I would never,” he said, as if it was a solemn vow.

Hawke smiled. “You are the most perverse of all soppy romantics. And I love you for it.” She raised herself up, leaned forward, and kissed his nose.

“Say all you like about my perversions, love,” he said, “but we both know you have a heart after my own heart. In,” he brushed back a stray lock from her face, “soppy romance as much as naughty cellar fun.” He smiled. “And I love you for it.”


End file.
